The air smelled of burnt metal and wet earth, a mingling of war's aftermath and the storm brewing overhead. Elias crouched behind the shattered remnants of a stone wall, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his spirit dagger. The blade hummed faintly, resonating with the mana still clinging to his skin. Across the ruined courtyard, the Chameleon moved like smoke—shifting, blending, never quite solid.
*"You can't hide forever,"* Elias called, voice rough from the ash in his throat.
A laugh slithered back, directionless. *"And yet, here I am."*
Elias exhaled sharply, forcing his pulse to steady. The Chameleon had led them into this dead zone, where the land still remembered the ancient mage wars—where magic flickered like a dying candle. No spells to rely on here, only steel and instinct. He glanced at Kael, who was bleeding from a gash above his brow, his enchanted armor cracked along the ribs. The Legion's best, brought low by a single assassin.
Kael spat blood onto the stones. *"He's playing with us."*
*"No,"* Elias muttered. *"He's waiting."*
A shadow darted left—too fast, too fluid. Elias lunged, his dagger carving through empty air. The Chameleon's voice whispered from behind him. *"Predictable."*
Pain seared across Elias's back as the assassin's blade grazed him. He rolled, coming up with teeth bared, just in time to see Kael swing his warhammer down—only for the weapon to pass harmlessly through the Chameleon's fading silhouette.
*"Illusions?"* Kael growled.
*"Worse,"* Elias said. *"Aether magic. He's bending light."*
The Chameleon materialized atop a broken pillar, his form flickering between solid and spectral. His mask—a porcelain thing, painted with the face of a laughing demon—tilted mockingly. *"You're slower than I expected, Legionnaire."*
Elias wiped sweat from his eyes. The dead zone was sapping his strength, but the Chameleon shouldn't have been able to wield magic here at all. Unless—
*"You're not drawing from the land,"* Elias realized. *"You're using your own reserves."*
The mask's grin seemed to widen. *"Clever. But it won't save you."*
The Chameleon leapt, his dagger aimed for Kael's throat. Elias moved on instinct, intercepting the strike with his spirit blade. Steel shrieked against steel, sparks flaring where the enchanted metals clashed. For a heartbeat, the assassin's weight pressed against him, close enough that Elias caught the scent of jasmine oil beneath the blood and grime—a noble's vanity.
*"Who paid you?"* Elias hissed.
The Chameleon twisted free, dancing back. *"The better question is—why you?"*
Kael roared, charging. The Chameleon sidestepped, but this time, Elias was ready. He feinted left, then drove his dagger upward. The blade bit into the assassin's side, drawing a hiss of pain. The porcelain mask cracked as the Chameleon staggered, his form solidifying for the first time.
*"Got you,"* Elias breathed.
The Chameleon touched his side, fingers coming away slick with blood. He laughed, low and ragged. *"You really don't understand, do you?"*
Then the sky split open.
Lightning arced down, not from the storm, but from the Chameleon's outstretched hand—a bolt of pure Aether magic, searing white. Elias barely raised his dagger in time. The impact sent him skidding backward, his bones rattling, the spirit blade glowing red-hot in his grip.
Kael wasn't so lucky. The lightning caught him full in the chest, throwing him against the wall. He slumped, smoke rising from his armor.
*"Kael!"* Elias's voice cracked.
The Chameleon straightened, his mask's fractures spreading like spiderwebs. *"You were never the target, Elias Veyra. You were just the message."*
Elias's blood turned to ice. *"What?"*
The assassin flicked his wrist, and the world dissolved into light.
When Elias's vision cleared, the Chameleon was gone. Only the broken mask remained, lying in the dirt, its grin now grotesque. Elias stumbled to Kael's side, pressing a hand to his friend's throat. A pulse—weak, but there.
*"Hang on,"* Elias muttered, yanking a healing vial from his belt. The liquid inside was dull, its magic weakened by the dead zone. He poured it into Kael's mouth anyway, watching the burns on his skin knit slowly.
Footsteps echoed through the ruins. Elias spun, dagger raised, but it was only Lira, her dark braids streaked with ash, her bow drawn.
*"We lost him,"* she said, voice tight.
Elias shook his head. *"No. He let us go."*
Lira's eyes flicked to Kael, then back to Elias. *"Why?"*
Elias picked up the broken mask, turning it over in his hands. On the inside, carved in delicate script, was a single word:
*Twelfth.*
The word meant nothing to Lira, but Elias felt the weight of it like a stone in his gut. The Twelfth of June. The day the Legion had fallen. The day his brother had died.
*"He wasn't just an assassin,"* Elias said quietly. *"He was a ghost."*
Lira frowned. *"What does that mean?"*
Elias crushed the mask in his fist. *"It means someone wants the Legion to remember."*
And for the first time in years, Elias was afraid